Thrice for Love
by TwistedSky
Summary: Nikita and Michael shared a secret-they had kissed before. Three times.


I disclaim! Enjoy! I don't have a beta, so all errors 'belong' to me.

XXXXXX

It was their dirty little secret. No one else knew, and no one else would ever know.

They didn't mention it, not even to each other. It simply was ignored.

Nikita and Michael had kissed before. Three times.

Each time had meant something completely different.

XXXX

The first time had been an accident.

The first kiss they shared was initiated in a time of great stress.

Nikita had been upset by a training that had nearly broken her. Michael had watched, desperately wanting to interfere as he saw her in so much intense pain. He hadn't though; it would have only served to paint a target on her back.

Minutes after Nikita had exited the room where she'd been having a "session" with Amanda, Michael had excused himself from the viewing room as stealthily as possible to run after her. She'd gotten to her room, slamming the door behind her, furiously.

He'd seen the door slam and he'd stopped. He'd stared at the door for almost two minutes, debating whether or not this was a good idea. He should leave her to her thoughts. He shouldn't try to be her hero. He shouldn't—

It didn't matter, he strode to the door, knocking and opening it without waiting for a response.

When he saw her he didn't know what to say. Her hair was a mess, her face was still stained with tears from her time with Amanda and she had a slightly crazed look on her face.

He stood, watching her, shutting the door behind him without taking his eyes from her face.

"You didn't say it would be like this," Nikita said, breaking the silence.

"It's part of the process, it's part of your training." It pained him to see her looking at him like this.

He stepped forward, stopping a foot away from her.

She stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Then she broke, pounding on his chest with her fists.

"I hate you." She said in-between hitting him.

"I know." He grabbed her, pushing her so close to his body that she couldn't lift her hands to keep hitting him.

She stood awkwardly in his embrace.

After she stopped trying to hit him, he let go. He stared into her eyes, raising his hand to her cheek. "You'll get through this."

"I can't—"

"You can," he assured her. She looked into his eyes, trying to grasp onto the surety in his voice, in his eyes.

Without even thinking about it she leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek—but surprised at her movement he turned his head to see what she was doing—and instead their lips met.

It last mere seconds, but for that brief moment Nikita felt safer than she possibly ever had, and Michael didn't feel anything except the sparks and tingles of her lips on his, and the feeling of her in his arms.

He pulled away, ending the kiss. "I'm sorry."

Nikita stood, staring at him. Slightly shocked she asked, "Why are you sorry?"

"That was highly inappropriate. I should go."

"It was my mistake, Michael." Nikita said sadly.

And he left her alone with her thoughts.

XXXX

They pretended that the kiss never happened. They never mentioned it again.

Michael dismissed it as an accident. And Nikita clamped down on the slight crush she'd begun to develop on Michael—which coincidentally paved the way for her to fall in love with Daniel.

They promised themselves that it would never happen again—that it wasn't a big deal, that they would never kiss again.

They were, of course, wrong.

XXXX

Their second kiss was a bit more worrisome than the first, yet even more innocent.

It was right after Daniel died. Nikita had gone missing, so Michael had gone looking for her.

He hadn't known, Percy hadn't told him what had happened. So all he knew that something was wrong, but he didn't know what.

"Nikita," he'd said softly into the quiet air. "What's wrong?"

Nikita was sitting under a tree—a tree that Michael knew was a special place for her and Daniel, and god, _he hated that tree_—and she looked heartbroken.

She wasn't crying—she was past that. But her eyes looked hard and cold. At the sound of his voice she looked up at him. "How could you?"

Michael leaned down to Nikita and—not even thinking about the damage the wet grass would do to his suit—he sat down next to her. "What happened, Nikita?"

Nikita slapped him. She could have done much worse, but the slap was symbolic. A woman's slap is used only for specific crimes against that woman.

"Daniel." It was all she said, and it made tears fall freely.

Michael felt the world change at that moment. He knew things would never be the same, but he had no idea how much. "I'm sorry."

And he knew. He didn't know the details, but he knew. He could feel Nikita's raw grief, her heartbreak was palpable to him—he wanted nothing more than to comfort her. She would have been upset if Daniel had left her . . . but this was more than that. Nikita was grieving.

"I'm—Division is worried about you," Michael said, unaware that that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

Nikita's eyes burned at that and Michael could practically feel her fury. She stood up abruptly and started to walk away. Michael jumped up, not even bothering to wipe off the grass that had stuck to him.

"Nikita," he called out. "What's going on?"

"They killed him, Michael. Division. It was them." Nikita spun around, practically screaming at Michael.

Michael believed it to be possible, but he needed to try to talk her down from the ledge. "Nikita, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding—"

Nikita interrupted him with a cold, humorless laugh. "It's not."

They stood facing each other in the empty park, just staring at each other. It started to rain.

It drizzled, and they still stood, watching each other.

As it started to truly rain Michael took off his coat and handed it to Nikita, who stared at it like she didn't want to take it.

Michael sighed. He put it on her.

"Thank you," Nikita closed her eyes. She shrugged the jacket off. "But I don't need your concern."

"Nikita—"

"I'm not going back."

Michael felt shock. His eyes widened and he felt like he couldn't breathe. "You—"

"I won't go back."

"They'll kill you." And he didn't want that.

A smile crossed her face, "They'll certainly try." She stepped forward and kissed him gently on the lips—clearly saying goodbye—and pulled away. "Goodbye, Michael."

Michael stood, in the rain, watching her disappear.

At that moment he felt his heart break and he would never be the same again.

The second kiss was chaste, unromantic. It was a goodbye. He didn't see or hear from her for nearly three years.

It hurt him more than the first did.

XXXX

Michael had her positioned awkwardly against the wall. She slammed him around, twisting his arm in a sharp way that made him grunt in pain.

"This is never going to end, is it?" Nikita asked sadly.

"No. It won't. Not until you're dead." He didn't want that. Some things were out of his control, and this was one of them.

Nikita sighed and let him go, walking away.

Michael, of course, couldn't let her go. He attacked, slamming her onto the floor, landing on top of her.

She looked into his eyes. "So, is this the ending?"

Michael closed his eyes and sighed. "I—"

With that Nikita rolled him over, landing on top of him, her hair falling down, framing her face.

Michael grunted. "No."

Nikita didn't really hear his answer. She was too busy staring down at him, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. "I wish—"

"Don't." Michael interrupted. "Please, don't."

Nikita realized she was practically straddling him with her legs and stood up abruptly. She looked down at him and held out a hand.

He stared up at her. He took the hand and pulled her back down, rolling back on top of her.

"I'm sorry."

"They'll kill me, you know that."

"I know."

With that they simply stared at each other.

Their third kiss had no initiator. It was impossible to tell which of them had made the first move because it was seemingly simultaneous.

One moment they were staring into each other's eyes, and the next their lips were meeting in a frenzied, terrifying sort of kiss.

This was different than the others. The first had been accidental, the second had been a goodbye. The third was a realization.

The kiss was forgiveness and acceptance.

It was a fierce brush of lips upon lips, of bodies pressing heatedly against one another.

The third kiss made them feel alive, so when Michael pulled away a sadness settled over them. A deadening, tragic sort of realization.

Michael got up, holding out his hand for her to take it. She stared up at him, slightly dazed, and she took the hand and he pulled her up.

"Go," he said.

"Michael—" she began.

"Nikita, go."

She went.

XXXX

After the third kiss Michael resolved to never let there be a fourth.

It was too much—too hard to pull away, too hard to go back to Division, too hard to accept that this war Nikita was waging would probably end with her death.

It was all too much.

XXXX

Nikita loved Michael in a strange sort of way.

The first kiss they'd shared was when she'd had a bit of a crush on him.

The second kiss they'd shared was when she'd lost the man she'd loved—the man who'd represented normalcy and a freedom from the life Division had given her.

She couldn't explain the reasoning behind the third kiss. Except that she loved him.

_Once for comfort, twice for goodbye, thrice for love. _

XXXXXX

I was feeling kind of sappy. _  
_


End file.
